


when I fall for that/let me down gently

by clxude



Series: waterloo [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crushes, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Heavy Angst, Implied Relationships, M/M, Major Character Injury, Pining, Pining Katsuki Yuuri, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, yuuri loses hot springs on ice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 05:11:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10564302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clxude/pseuds/clxude
Summary: He loses Hot Springs on Ice, and that's the beginning of the end.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhh i started this back around episode 9? and took like 10 pages of notes and made a really extensive treesheet and then burned myself out and then wrote 5k in 2 days ahhhh fuck it up my dudes  
> edited by ray (rosywiki on tumblr :)  
> title from weak by AJR and adele's water under the bridge

 

Yurio’s fans cheer, filling the Ice Palace with thunderous noise. 

 

Yuuri isn’t shocked by the outcome, when it comes down to it. He may be a good skater, but Yuri Plisetsky is better - anyone could have told you that. Yurio is smiling proudly, pumping his left fist in the air. Yuuri is cold. He should change soon, get out of his sweaty costume and take a hot shower before he comes down with a cold.

 

“Victor will return to Russia to coach Yuri Plisetsky leading up to this season’s Grand Prix. I can’t wait to see how Plisetsky’s senior debut will turn out with Victor coaching him. No matter what, we’re in for an exciting year of figure skating.”

 

Yuuri meets Victor’s eyes. Victor smiles sadly, and Yuuri has to blink back tears to return it. Victor starts to walk towards him, but Yuuri leaves before he can.

 

…

 

Victor knocks on his door later that night once he and Yuri get home from the Ice Palace. Yuuri has been reading news articles about it all evening, huddled under his blankets. It’s easier there, where he can pretend that he was never involved, never part of the equation, never had Victor Nikiforov as a coach. 

 

Not that it meant anything, in the end.

 

Victor knocks again. When Yuuri doesn’t respond, he walks away. Yuuri clenches his fists and bites his lip. This doesn’t mean anything. Yuuri was just fine before Victor, and will be just fine after him.

 

By the time Yuuri leaves his room for breakfast the next day, Victor and Yuri Plisetsky have already packed their things and boarded a flight bound for Russia.

 

…

 

Hiroko makes pork cutlet bowls for dinner. Yuuri doesn’t eat his, just pokes at it. He didn’t win Hot Springs on Ice; he doesn’t deserve katsudon. Mari frowns and rubs his back.

 

“There’s always next season,” she says hopefully. 

 

Yuuri nods blankly and chews on the inside of his cheek. There’s always next year, and next year’s defeat.

 

“You just need more training. You’re still kinda shaken up from Grand Prix and Victor suddenly showing up. More training and more time and everything will work out, yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

...

 

He calls Celestino the next day, once it’s not the middle of the night in Detroit. 

 

His old coach is happy to hear from him, even if he is apologetic about the circumstances. 

 

“Mari-kun is right,” he says. “More time and more training, and you’ll be golden. I saw a video of your performance. If you had skated like that last season, you could have won. You jumps were messy, but your step sequences are stunning.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

_ You could have won. _

 

“If you come out to Detroit before you can find an apartment, you’re welcome to stay with me. I have plenty of space. It’ll be just like old times. How does that sound, Yuuri?”

 

Yuuri knows he takes to long to respond to the offer, but all of the times Victor asked to sleep with him suddenly come rushing back. He knows his relationship with Celestino will never be what he had with Victor. He doesn't he know what he had with Victor, but it doesn’t matter anymore - it’s gone now.

 

“That sounds great, Celestino. I’ll start packing tonight.”

 

He misses Victor far more than he expected.

 

…

 

His mother tears up when Yuuri tells her the news. 

 

“I believe in you, Yuuri,” she whispers, hugging him tight. Her voice is watery. He can feel her quivering like a leaf in the wind - he shouldn’t go halfway across the world for a selfish reason yet again.  “We’ll watch you on television every time you skate, no matter the time difference. Just like old times.”

 

He doesn’t want to tell her it’s more than likely he won’t make it back to Grand Prix after last year. He might be one of the best male figure skaters in Japan, but when it comes to international competition, being in the top ten doesn’t cut it. 

 

(His hands shook when he packed his skates. They make him think of Victor, of who they could have been together. It’s too late for that now - Victor is thousands of miles away, skating with the Russian Punk.)

 

He doesn’t tell her that, and squeezes back twice as hard.

 

…

 

It’s two am in Los Angeles when Yuuri lands for a brief layover at LAX. He yawns as he walks through the terminal, stopping at a small kiosk for a cup of tea. His hands shake when it takes the cup from the attendant, the sudden heat warming up his fingertips, even with the thick cardboard koozie. 

 

When he’s ruffling through his carry-on for his credit card, he nearly drops the paper cup. On the magazine rack, there’s a copy of  _ Sports Illustrated,  _ Victor smiling on the front cover, Yuri Plisetsky scowling beside him. They’re both wearing the Russian figuring skating team jackets. 

 

“Are you okay?” the attendant asks, barely loud enough to be heard as the intercom plays the same public safety message over and over. 

 

Yuuri rips his eyes away from the magazine. “Yes, I am. Thank you.”

 

Once he gets his card back, he shoves it deep in his bag. It takes some multitasking and few near misses, but he manages to riffle through for his headphones and plug them into the jack on his phone. 

 

He walks to concourse B like that - head down, burning his lips and tongue on mint tea, blasting  _ on love: eros  _ as loud as he can stand. It’s not perfect, not anywhere close, but it’s a distraction, and that’s all he really needs.

 

...

 

It’s pitch black when the plane touches down in Detroit. Yuuri keeps his window shade up, watching the ground come up beneath him. He follows the red lights that line the runway rush past as the airplane decelerates before finally lurching to a stop.

 

He waits for everyone else on the plane to get off before he does, lugging his carry on behind him. He’s tired, but more from sitting on a plane for fourteen hours than the early hour.

 

Celestino is waiting for him by the luggage carousel, holding two cups of coffee. He looks exhausted, with dark bruises under his eyes. Once Yuuri reaches him, the coach holds out one of the cups.  

 

“Good morning, Yuuri-kun.”

 

...

 

“It’s good to have you back, Yuuri,” Celestino says once they’re pulling into morning traffic. It’s not yet rush hour, but the highways and city streets are already beginning to fill with people trying to beat the brunt of it to varying levels of success. “The rink hasn’t been the same without you.”

 

Yuuri doesn’t respond. He’s staring out the window, watching the street lights glisten on puddles. The water is oily, reflective, like a rainbow.

 

“I saw that Victor Nikiforov coached you for a time. How was that?”

 

_ Disappointing, for him.  _

 

“I know the loss at the Ice Palace hurt.”

 

_ For me, it was… _

 

“But this season, you’ll come back better than ever. We’re going to beat Yuri Plisetsky, just you wait,” Celestino continues.

 

_ For me, it was heartbreaking. _

 

“We’ll start practice in a few days, once you get over your jetlag. I want to see what you picked up from Victor.”

 

_ I’m going to win. I’m going to be enough, this time. _

 

…

 

When he wakes up, he’s unsure of where he is. There isn’t any light coming through the window blinds, leaving the room in complete and utter darkness. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, feels the plush carpet with the pads of his toes. His legs are cold, from the seam of his boxers where the fabric brushes the pale skin of his thighs, all the way down to his feet. The carpet doesn’t help.

 

He stands a few moments later and tugs on a pair of jeans before padding out of the room. A television is playing off to the right, newscasters chatting in english. Celestino looks over at him when Yuuri sits down on the couch.

 

“How did you sleep?”

 

Yuuri shrugs. His mind is foggy, and the television isn’t helping as his mind struggles to decipher what they’re saying. 

 

“What time is it?” he asks a minute later.

 

“Just after eleven,” the coach replies. “I expected it though - that’s jetlag for you.”

 

Yuuri nods, more than slightly out of it. He’s tired. Hopefully, sleeping for a few more hours will begin to shift his sleep schedule into something more appropriate for the midwest. 

 

“Do you want to visit the rink tomorrow? Everyone was happy to hear that you were coming back. You won’t be skating yet, of course, but it’s better than staying holed up here and sleeping all day.”

 

“That sounds good,” Yuuri whispers before standing up and heading back to the guest bedroom.

 

“Yuuri-kun,” Celestino calls. Yuuri turns his head to look at him, hand still resting on the doorknob. The metal is cold, biting. 

 

“We’ll get you back up.”

 

It takes him a long time to fall back asleep after that.

 

…

 

In the morning, once Celestino has worked his way through three cups of coffee from some fancy European machine and Yuuri has drained a cup or two of tea, the two men slip on their shoes and head down to the parking garage. Celestino fiddles with the radio dial for a while as he drives through the rows of cars.

 

“All of the girls love this one,” he says as they finally settle on a station. 

 

Yuuri has never heard the song before, and it’s not the kind of music he would listen to normally, either. It’s similar to what the other Yuri would listen to, on the few occasions he connected his phone to the Ice Palace’s audio system. 

 

_ I live for the applause, applause, live for the applause, applause _

_ Live for the way that you cheer and scream for me _

 

Yuuri tries to not hate it immediately. 

 

…

 

The next day, Celestino lets Yuuri have the rink all to himself. He skates aimlessly, in looping figure eights, interspersed with the occasional jump. His gloved fingers trail over the plexiglass around the edges of the rink. Celestino watches him the bleachers, along side videos of Yuuri’s past performances on his laptop. 

 

He wonders if Victor ever did this, back when he was still coaching Yuuri. He doubts it. He knows Victor cared, but he also knows that Yuri Plisetsky demanded constant attention when it came to the ice. 

 

Yuuri isn’t bitter. What’s done is done.

 

“You keep over rotating, Yuuri-kun.”

 

Yuuri nods, digging his toe pick into the ice. It’s a bad habit that he picked up at his first international competition, and try as he might, Nishigori has never been able to break it. He forces himself to stop and clasps his hands behind his back, tugging on the tips of his gloves.

 

...

 

Yuuri starts running in the morning. The sidewalks in Detroit are more crowded than they were in Hasetsu, and the air is heavier from smog. Most of the automobile factories have long been closed, but Yuuri still feels their effect in his lungs. 

 

His feet hit the sidewalk - left, right, left, right. Yuuri thinks about Victor, and how graceful he was both on and off the ice. He was a sight to behold, an angel, a mirage. Yuuri had posters of him tacked to his walls before he met Victor. Now, he wishes he still had them, even if they were just for nostalgia's sake. He wishes he had pictures of himself with Victor, instead of just memories of bathhouses and touches that lit up Yuuri’s skin, even if they were all under the pretense of coaching.

 

Yuuri runs faster - right after left, left after right.

 

…

 

He spends the morning working on his quad salchow. Celestino had dropped him off at the rink a few hours earlier, before rushing off to a meeting with another skater’s doctor. 

 

He can picture it now, what this training session would be like if Victor was still here -  _ Watch the edge of your skate, Yuuri-chan! Stay in your head and watch the ice! _

 

Victor always pushed him to succeed, but Yuuri can feel his hip bruising, along with his palm, from repeated falls. He can make this jump in practice, or he used to be able to. But he can’t now, and his bones ache because of it. But he won’t give up, not when he came so far only to lose it all.

 

…

 

Getting up the stairs and into the apartment that night is a feat in of itself. When he finally makes it to the bathroom, he strips down to his boxers and looks at himself in the mirror. His sides are a mottled purple, layered with hints of blue and pink. His feet are red as well, blistered and swollen. 

 

He cries in the shower from the water pressure hitting him, and bites his lips in an attempt to keep quiet. He slaps some anesthetic on his feet and calls it a night, but it’s still a long time before sleep ceases to evade him. 

 

…

 

“How is practice, Yuuri?” Mari asks the next time she calls. He’s laying in bed, scrolling through instagram on his computer. 

 

“It’s good. I almost have my quad salchow down.”

 

“Really? I’m so proud of you,” she coos. “Mom’s been worried about you ever since you went to Detroit the first time. She’ll be happy to hear that you’re doing all right.”

 

Yuuri’s glad he hasn’t mentioned the bruises now. If Hiroko were to catch wind of her youngest suffering, she would never let him back out onto the ice again. But this is where he’s happiest, even if it causes him pain.

 

“What about Victor-kun? Have you talked to him since he went back to Russia with the other Yuri?”

 

Yuuri’s finger hovers over the trackpad. He’s looking at one of Phichit’s pictures - new skates from a sponsor. 

 

“No.”

 

“Oh.” Mari’s regret is clear in her voice. “Well, I’m sure he’s busy, what with competitions starting back up soon.”

 

“Two and a half months.” There’s no way he’ll be good enough, strong enough, by then, without Victor by his side to cheer him on. He never imagined Victor would become his own personal cheerleader-coach hybrid, but now that he’s not, Yuuri isn’t quite sure how to fill the void left behind. Celestino certainly isn’t the answer - he’s never been that kind of coach.

 

“Exactly; who knows, you might even run into each other at one of them!”

 

“Yeah,” Yuuri whispers, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. The siblings say their goodbyes, and Yuuri returns to his mindless scrolling. 

 

The next picture is of Yuri Plisetsky, asleep with Maccachin on top of him. Yuuri checks the username - it’s posted to Victor’s account. Yuuri doesn’t even bother to close the tab before he’s slamming his laptop closed and shoving the computer to the end of his bed and tossing his glasses to the side table. 

 

That’s a job for future Yuuri. 

 

…

 

There’s just him and the ice, the glide of the blades against the slick surface. He’s exhausted; sleep didn’t come easily after his phone call with Mari. He wants to do nothing more than to curl up in his bed and sleep, but he can’t do that, not now when there’s barely any time left until his first competition. 

 

His bruises smart, but he still goes through the motions for  _ Eros,  _ even if they are a bit half hearted when there’s no one left to seduce. It’s better than nothing, and all practice is good practice. The motions are becoming smoother every day, even if katsudon no longer provides the feelings required for the program. 

 

Yuuri doesn’t care anymore, as long as he makes the jumps.

 

…

 

He throws himself into figure skating, occupying the ice every single second that it’s open. 

 

Celestino only watches him sometimes - the coach is a busy man, on multiple skaters’ payroll. And that makes it easy, so, so easy, to push himself too far. It’s not hard to ignore blisters and blood at the professional level. It hurts far more than he would ever admit, but time is a finite thing and Yuuri is close to running out.

 

…

 

Yuuri’s icing his feet and watching shitty reality TV when Celestino comes home. One of his skaters - an up and coming girl, with a step sequence as sharp as a whip - had a torn ACL. Her doctor’s appointment was today, and like the wonderful coach he is, Celestino agreed to drive her to the doctor’s office. 

 

“What did you do?” Celestino asks once he’s sitting in the armchair. 

 

“I was practicing jumps.” He doesn’t mention the repeated falling, or how his ankles kept turning in. It’s not a big deal - Yuuri’s done it before and bounced back in less than a week.

 

Celestino sighs and pushes back his hair. “You need to go easier on yourself, or I’ll tell the rink manager to stop giving you ice time.”

 

“I will.”

 

He won’t.

 

“How is Mamrie's ACL?” he asks instead. It’s a safe topic- still ice skating but no longer revolving around Yuuri.

 

Celestino sees right through it, unsurprisingly. “She’ll be fine, just has to avoid any weight on it for two weeks and no skating for a month. The physical therapist said she was lucky to avoid surgery. But if that happens to you, I’ll never let you onto the ice again, Yuuri. Got it?”

 

“Got it.”

 

Yuuri just won’t let him find out, then.

 

...

 

It starts out easy, jogging to the rink in a wind breaker and trackpants. Yuuri is tired and aching, but with Chugoku in two months, he doesn’t have any time to waste. The air is starting to grow colder, but the sun is still warm. 

 

…

 

When he’s in the locker room, Yuuri takes the time to stretch out his arms and legs. He rolls his ankles a few times to loosen them up, bites back the pain of the delicate bruising. This is nothing bad - his feet were far worse during his last season, when he fought so hard to reach the Grand Prix Finals.

 

He’ll be fine, once he’s out on the ice.

 

…

 

He skates slowly, following the side of the rink. He’s still tired, exhausted to the core. The cold air of the rink doesn’t help matters, just makes his fingers shake. He forms a fist and breathes hot air onto it, before shaking out his hands.

 

He takes a deep breath and skates faster, one foot after the other. He’s shakier than he should be, more than he has been in a while. It’s probably a terrible idea for him to be on the ice to begin with, let alone attempt a quad salchow. But Yuuri has never had the best ideas, when it comes to figure skating.

 

He skates backwards, before pushing off with the inside of his foot. One, two, three - he lands on the outside of his other foot, and -  _ fuck. _

 

…

 

He’s laying on his back. The ice is beginning to feel warm underneath him, and his eyes sting from looking at the overhead lights. He can’t see much besides the lights, he lost his glasses when he fell, and now they’re -  _ somewhere.  _

 

He sits up, bites his tongue to hold back a sob. His right ankle is throbbing, and judging by the pain, it’s sprained. He flops back down. He can’t have a sprain, not now, when the season is two months away, he has to be good enough.

 

He’s going to be good enough.

 

He does his best to stand up, keeping most of his weight off of his right leg. Luckily, he was close to the exit when he jumped, so he doesn’t have to limp too far across the ice. Reaching the benches is difficult, but once he’s there, he’s careful to remove his skates and slide the covers onto the blades. 

 

Getting his running shoes back on is a completely different story - the motion brings pinpricks of tears to his eyes. His foot is already beginning to swell and bruise. His fingers brushes his ankle and he gasps, another wave of tears surfacing. 

 

And as he calls a cab to drive him back to Celestino’s, he chooses to ignore the fact that he won’t be back in shape by Chugoku. The only thing standing in his way is himself, and Yuuri isn’t ready to back down.

 

…

 

He’s sitting in the bathtub, ice duct taped to his ankle. A clean sock is clutched between his teeth to silence and pained noises Celestino might hear, while Yuuri is taking a “bath.” His laptop is resting on his stomach, playing a video of the other Yuri that the triplets sent him. 

 

It’s  _ On Love: Agape,  _ filmed shakily and in low quality, like it was done with someone’s phone. Even with that, Yuuri knows the program well enough to know it’s perfect, far beyond how he did at Onsen on Ice. 

 

He moves his ankle in an attempt to stop it from locking up. Instead, it sends electric bolts and red hot pain all the way to his hip. His whine is muffled by the sock, but it’s wet and disgusting in his mouth, far too large to fit comfortably. 

 

He hits replay, and finally,  _ finally, _ lets the tears fall.

 

…

 

He doesn’t leave the apartment for three days, keeping his ankle wrapped tightly. He tucks it underneath him whenever Celestino is home and chalks up his lack of time on ice as a few well needed rest days. 

 

Yuuri knows Celestino doesn’t believe him, but his coach never brings it up, either. But once the three days are up and Yuuri can put weight back on his right ankle, Celestino stops letting him go to the rink alone.

 

“It’s getting close to competition. Now is the time to perfect your programs,” is Celestino’s excuse, but Yuuri sees right through him.

 

Maybe that’s the problem with going back to his old coach - they both know each other too well.

 

...

 

His ankle still hurts, whenever he lands. He knows walking on a sprained ankle and throwing all of his body weight onto it suddenly isn’t the same thing, but he doesn’t have time to lag. 

 

He practices  _ Eros,  _ stays up late trying to figure out what the feeling means to him. Every time, he keeps coming back to the same thing, and it’s never his mother’s katsudon.

 

“Get out of your head!” Celestino yells at him, leaning against the barrier. He’s ditched the suit jacket, but it doesn’t help any - Yuuri has a hard time taking him seriously, anyway. “You’re overthinking everything.”

 

Yuuri’s never been able to do that, even after years of Celestino telling him to. His thoughts are always too loud as he skates - he constantly second guesses if he can make jumps he knows he can, right up until the millisecond before, and by then it’s too late. He takes a deep breath, glides to the center of the rink. The music starts, and the arena fades from the front of his mind. Somewhere deep in his subconscious, he can sense Celestino. But now - it’s just him, the ice, and the music. 

 

_ On Love: Eros. _

 

Yuuri wants to call Victor, ask the Russian what he was thinking when he gave Yuuri the music. It would have been better for Yuri Plisetsky - they all knew it. But then again, Yuri could skate to anything and make it beautiful. He’s like Victor - a different breed altogether. 

 

They’re just motions, ones that Yuuri knows through and through. But figuring skating is two parts skill, one part performance, and Yuuri has never been able to master the final 33.3 percent to balance out the equation. 

 

…

 

When it’s late and Yuuri is certain Celestino is asleep on the other side of the apartment, Yuuri finally lets himself break down and open YouTube. As soon as the website is loaded, his fingers fly across his laptop keys with practiced ease. He scrolls for a few seconds before he finds a video in 1080p from last year. 

 

_ Stay Close to Me  _ plays through his headphones, and slowly but surely, Yuuri teaches himself the meaning of eros, one idolized figure skater at a time. 

 

...

 

He taps his fingers on the kitchen table in time to the dial tone, his foot propped up on the chair opposite. It’s still early, but Ketty has classes all day, so now his only chance. He hasn’t talked to her in months, since before he moved back to Japan.

 

“Yuuri?” 

 

He almost falls out of the chair at the sudden sound of her voice, but he still smiles. “Hello, Ketty.”

 

“How are you? Are you back in Detroit?”

 

“I’m good. I got back a few days ago to train with Celestino.”

 

“I thought you were training with that Russian figure skater, Victor Nikiforov?” 

 

He doesn’t want to think about it, but he still tells her it didn’t work out. 

 

“Do you need me to write another song for your short program?”

 

“I would appreciate that, Ketty.” It’s nice, this freedom to choose his music. Celestino never let him decide, but what the coach doesn’t know won’t hurt him. They’re barely even discussed what he’s going to do, but once Yuuri has the music, he can do anything.

 

“Do you want to meet up tomorrow? I’m free around noon.”

 

With freedom comes the ability to fly, to decide who he’ll present himself as on the ice. But he can already feel himself locking up, slipping into paralysis. 

 

He’ll never become good enough, but the current Yuuri will have to do.

 

…

 

They meet at a cafe a few blocks down from the rink. It’s small and cozy, with soft lighting and strong drinks. Ketty is already there when Yuuri arrives, but she hasn’t ordered yet, which makes Yuuri feel slightly better. 

 

She looks just like she did a few months ago - pretty blonde hair pushes back with a headband, brown eyes bright and cheerful. A graphic tee tucked into black jeans, smiling and carefree. 

 

“Do you have any ideas yet?” she asks once they’re settled in plush armchairs, tea mugs and plates of sweet pastries set out on a low coffee table. “I could base it on the last one, if you want.”

 

“No, ah, I think I have an idea.”

 

When she smiles, Yuuri thinks that maybe, being back in Detroit isn’t such a terrible thing after all. 

 

...

 

He has a window seat on the plane to Japan. He watches the world disappear underneath the cloud cover, whisked away and forgotten. There’s a kind of magical transcendence forty thousand feet up, amid recycled air and yellowed lights. 

 

Celestino is passed out beside him, leaving Yuuri with no one to talk to. The inflight entertainment has yet to be turned on, so he’s stuck watching static, restless and anxious. He takes a deep breath and settles into the fifteen hour flight.

 

…

 

The smog is thick in the air around the airport, heavy in Yuuri’s lungs. A surgical mask wards off the worst of it, but the air still leaves a foul taste in his mouth. Even in the taxi to the hotel, it’s impossible to escape - sucked in by the AC and unable to leave.

 

Luckily, the hotel isn’t that far mileage wise from the airport. Unluckily, it seems, the cabbie either is extremely unfamiliar with the street layout, or extremely familiar. The meter keeps climbing, and racks up a total far too large for the distance they should have traveled. But the jetlag is beginning to kick in, and Yuuri is far too drained to start a shouting match with a cabbie. Celestino seems to be much the same. 

 

Once inside his room, Yuuri collapses face down on the bed, not even taking the time to remove his shoes or turn down the covers. He’s completely drained - there’s not a single droplet of energy left in his body. Even the thought of having to get up the next day for one final rehearsal makes his skin crawl.

 

When he sleeps, he doesn’t dream - just slips off into inky blackness, free of distraction, free of worry. 

 

…

 

The rink is busy - packed with skaters and fans and journalists. One tries to snatch up an interview with Yuuri. He stops, grips the strap of his bag tightly as she shoves a microphone into his face. 

 

“How do you think losing Victor Nikiforov as a coach will affect your season?” she asks. A cameraman looms over her shoulder. The lens is dark and steril. 

 

“I…”

 

The lights are bright, glaring overhead. He’s dizzy, barely breathing. It’s too much, he can’t, he needs to - 

 

“Sorry,” Celestino says, smiling at the reporter as he wraps an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder. “We’re running a bit late right now, so Katsuki Yuuri won’t be available to be interviewed as of now.”

 

“But - “

 

Celestino doesn’t wait for her to finish before he’s guiding Yuuri away. He doesn’t let go of Yuuri, something he’s extremely thankful for. The entire situation is more than he can handle, so the familiar touch is reassuring. 

 

“I don’t want to talk about Victor,” he says, a bit numbly. His tongue feels thick, too wide for his mouth. 

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

…

 

Being back into the competition atmosphere is terrifying. It’s all noise and flashing lights, the warm press of bodies offset by the cold ice.

 

“Yuuri!” 

 

He turns around to see Minako, and just behind her, Nishigori. Minako is carrying what appears to be a banner. He raises his hand to wave, but she pulls him into a hug anyway. It’s incredibly tight, and Yuuri can feel her warm breath on his neck. Soon, she pulls back but doesn’t let go, studying him from arm’s length. 

 

“You’re thinner,” she remarks a few seconds later. “Is Celestino not making katsudon for you in Detroit?”

 

He shrugs. “I’ve been practicing more. Running in Detroit is different than it was in Hasetsu. It’s nice to be back, though.”

 

She nods and opens her mouth to say something, but Nishigori leans around her before she can.

 

“We need to go find our seats now,” he says to Minako, before turning to to Yuuri and smiling. “I’ll be cheering for you the entire time.”

 

“Thanks, Takeshi.” It’s nice to have someone who’ll cheer him on, even after every triumph and failure he’s been through. “I’m glad you were able to make it.”

 

_ And, I’m glad you didn’t mention Victor. _

Minako gives him another hug, and then he’s alone again. But it feels different now, knowing that they’re here. Victor may be in Russia with Yurio, but Yuuri still has someone.

 

He’s still strong enough, as he skates onto the ice, all charm and flirtatious smiles. 

 

…

 

Katsuki Yuuri knows his anxiety so well, he could win a gold medal in pairs skating.

 

_ I’m going to become a beautiful katsudon,  _ he decides once he reaches the center of the ice, lines up his feet to face the judges. Of course, that’s easier to think than to act on. If it was true, Victor would still be watching him, wouldn’t he? 

 

_ On Love: Eros  _ begins, and Yuuri lets the music consume him. It’s just him and the ice - the silent spectators don’t mean a thing. His step sequence is quick and flawless, the same as it’s always been.  _ Victor would have -  _ he stops the dangerous thought a second before his spread eagle, and the triple axel after it is clean.

 

When he over rotates his first quad, things start to go downhill as his ankle starts to burn. His hand only touches the ground for an instant to keep his balance, but it’s still enough to mess him up for his next jump. The second jump of his quad/triple combination turns into a double and the impact nearly makes him puke. It’s clean enough, even though when Morooka tells the crowds that it was over rotated, causing his stomach to churn.

 

When he finishes, the stands erupt in cheers. Yuuri is breathing hard, his chest heaving. He stumbles off of the ice, a little out of it, and into Celestino’s waiting arms. He blinks back tears, bites his lip.

 

“That was beautiful, Yuuri. Victor really can choreograph a short program, eh?” He smiles, pats Yuuri on the back a few times. The skater just nods, still breathing to heavily to reply as he’s led to the Kiss and Cry. 

 

Soon, Morooka can be heard over the loudspeaker. “A beautiful performance from Japan’s own Katsuki Yuuri! With a score of 94.36, he’s beginning Chugoku in good standings, a solid 10 points ahead of his previous best!”

 

Letting out a loud whoop, Celestino pulls him into a another hug. “I’m proud of you,” he murmurs into the crown of Yuuri’s hair, “but don’t think this score makes me forget about your injury.”

 

He pulls back, hands on Yuuri’s shoulders as he looks him up and down. The coach’s face is thoughtful, and serious enough to worry Yuuri. 

 

“We’re taking out all of the quads, except for the first,” Celestino decides. Yuuri opens his mouth to argue, but Celestino raises his hand, silencing him. “No arguments. Pushing yourself could ruin your ankle permanently.”

 

Yuuri nods, and although it’s obviously for the best, it’s still hard for him to agree.

 

…

 

Watching Minami takes Yuuri back. It’s strange, to have someone infatuated with him, begginghim to not retire until they can compete at finals together. It’s so close to how Yuuri was when he was younger, head over heels for Victor Nikiforov, the pretty Russian figure skater with a lithe body and unbelievable jumps. 

 

But Minami is so much braver than Yuuri was back then, strong enough to talk to Yuuri. Yuuri could never do that - he ran out of the airport the one time Victor approached him before they met again, as coach and skater. 

 

Minami makes Yuuri brave, but he makes him reckless, too. Reckless enough, it would seem, to slap Minami’s ass after his free skate and walk away like nothing had transpired. The young skaters, these days - so incredibly talented and proud. It scares Yuuri, just a bit. 

 

Or, he might just be getting old.

 

…

 

The lights are bright, out on the ice. They glare, reflected off the ice like floodlights. It shouldn’t be comforting, it shouldn’t be familiar. But as he glides out to the center, as his music begins, a kind of stillness descends over him. He raises his arms, breathes, and so it begins.

 

Soft piano, a clean quad. The stands are nowhere close to full, and the remaining audience is quiet. It’s like being back at the Ice Palace, just him and Victor. Or further back, when he was with Yuko, fooling around and tripping on his picks to American pop.

 

The second jump in the combination is under rotated, dropping down to only two spins. He keeps going - it’s clean enough, even if the commentator does tell the scant audience of his mistake. He can hear Minami cheer, and that’s enough.

 

He needs more rotations - he could add a triple, add a - 

 

_ What would Victor do? _

 

But he’s still too stiff, too tight in his approach, can feel Celestino’s glare burning into his back from all alway across the ice. He jumps, and can immediately tell that he won’t make the quad. When he falls, he manages to stay off of his ankle, forcing most of his weight onto his hand and wrist. He’s up quickly, and his next jump - a triple loop - is flawless. 

 

_ I can do better. _

 

Thinking that is always a risk - push yourself too far, expect too much, you’ll only be let down.

 

But, if he doesn’t try now, what will he ever gain?

 

He pushes himself, skating faster and faster. Jump higher or don’t jump at all. He misses the second jump of a combination, but his performance isn’t over yet. 

 

_ Breathe. _

 

You’re either the most beautiful thing to ever touch the ice, or you fuck off and let someone else have your spot. 

 

There’s only one jump left. Yuuri could listen, be the good little skater. Take the safe route, a triple, land himself a few extra points. But it’s the last jump. Yuuri isn’t who he was last year. Yuuri isn’t going to run away the moment it becomes difficult.

 

He regrets it wholeheartedly, the moment he smacks his face against the sideboards. Almost right away, he can feel blood begin to drip. But he’s close, and what’s a little blood?

 

He’s breathing hard and trying to not leave a biohazard on the ice when his performance ends, perfectly in time with the music.

 

“Katsuki Yuuri has shown his pride as Japan’s top skater!” Morooka yells as Yuuri bows. The skater is smiling, soaking in the applause of the spectators. 

 

“Don’t do that ever again, or I swear to God I’ll never let you back on the ice,” Celestino tells him at the kiss and cry. “You almost gave me a heartattack.”

 

But when they announce his score and he’s in first place, winning gold far ahead of the other three competitors, Celestino can’t keep a grin off of his face, even as he’s calling for ice and painkillers alongside shooing off reporters. 

 

…

 

So, he’s back in Detroit two days later, propped up on the couch, icing his ankle and watching his programs. The video quality is poor, taken on someone’s phone and mixed with the screams of the few fans he has. 

 

There’s a notebook on his knee and his handwriting his shaky and he can’t sit still, but Celestino comes into the room, opens his mouth and - 

 

“I can do better,” Yuuri interrupts. “I will do better.”

 

“I always told you that. A little bit of confidence will take you further than you ever imagined.”

 

...

 

Cup of China and it’s the same old story. 

 

The smog seems to worm its way into his lungs the second the plane touches down. It’s weird, after being in Detroit again. The smoke still hasn’t cleared from the last few car factories, but the Michigan air has nothing on China. Yuuri coughs once before Celestino shoves a mask into his face.

 

“I can’t have you getting sick,” he says, like there’s nothing to it. And maybe after all this time, there isn’t.

 

…

 

He’s confident until the second he walks into the rink, and the anxiety hits him like a sniper’s bullet. 

 

_ You got this, you got this, you got this -  _ but not really, when you’re going up against Christophe Giacometti in the year he claims will usurp the world’s sweetheart. Even seeing skaters like Phichit Chulanont and Georgi Popovich makes his skin crawl, retreating back against his skeleton.

 

He’s shaky during warm ups, stumbling over his toe pick the second he steps onto the ice. He brushes it off as best he can, even as the announcer tells everyone who wasn’t paying close attention what happened. 

 

“Katsuki seems to lacking confidence today, even after his stellar performance at Chugoku. Hopefully, he won’t let that get the best of him and put out a similar program today.”

 

Breathe, breathe,  _ breathe -  _

 

And everyone leaves the ice.

 

“First up will be Katsuki Yuuri, skating to  _ On Love: Eros,  _ choreographed by Victor Nikiforov. Katsuki has been circulating into the news frequently this season after Nikiforov chose to not perform this season in favor of coaching him, only to quickly switch to the up and coming Russian skater, Yuri Plisetsky, last year’s junior champion. Most recently, Nikiforov announced that he doesn’t plan on returning to competition at all.”

 

The stadium boos. Yuuri sips water, keeping his head down as Celestino repeats his jump sequence. 

 

Handing the water back to his coach, he shakes out his shoulders and skates out onto the ice. He likes to think Victor is watching, wishing he was here. Yuuri is worth it, isn’t he?

 

_ Isn’t he? _

 

The music starts, and -  _ don’t ever take your eyes off of me, Victor  _ \- and he looks straight to the judges, a panel of old skaters who haven’t been spotted on ice since the 80’s and bites his lip, juts his chin.

 

It’s eros, and Katsuki Yuuri came to seduce the whole damn city.

 

“He’s  - he’s different from his last season, wouldn’t you say?” the news correspondent struggles to get out.

 

“He’s certainly always gone all out for the presentation component,” the other replies, a few beats off. “This routine is no different.”

 

The step sequence is first, and maybe that’s a good thing - impress them from the beginning, so it’s harder to say you’re not skilled enough to steal Victor Nikiforov from the sport when you miss half your jumps in the second half.

 

And he doesn’t care if they hate him, because fuck them all - Victor chose  _ him,  _ and he wants them to all remember that when every god damn jump in his short program is clean and he scores just shy of 107 points, even with every concerning twitch in his ankle. 

 

_ Victor could have done better  _ \- his subconsciousness tries to butt in, but he didn’t ask and he doesn’t care.

 

“You’re witnessing the birth of a new Katsuki Yuuri!”

 

…

 

“You’re the one to beat,” Celestino points out at the kiss and cry. 

 

Yuuri stops, mouth goes as dry as a desert and he’s numb. 

 

This is new and strange and weird, he thinks, as Georgi Popovich glides into the spotlight in gaudy makeup. New and strange and weird, but not entirely bad.

 

…

 

The other skaters’ scores rush past him as unassuming numbers, hardly registering. He stretches, drinks water, jogs a bit to get out the rest of his  energy.

 

He drops his water bottle when Moorooka announces that the short program is concluding with Yuuri in the first place. 

 

“Shit,” he says, because every eye is on him, waiting for his signature breakdown, waiting for the other boot to fall.

 

…

 

But it doesn’t have to fall, because he’s Katsuki fucking Yuuri, and he’s not the same person he was a year ago. 

 

...

 

“No jumps in the warm up. You don’t need to injure yourself.”

 

Yuuri nods, of course, but he still jumps and he still falls, grits his teeth through the pain, ignoring Celestino’s scowl when he clambers off the ice.

 

...

 

He watches the other skaters, leaning across the side paneling, chewing on his bottom lip. 

 

Guang-Hong goes first, followed by Christophe and Phichit. The next two fly past and Yuuri is bouncing in his seat until Celestino squeezes his knee.

 

“If your injure yourself, you’re done for the season,” he says, not looking at Yuuri.

 

“Of course, Coach.”

 

“You won’t compete next season either if you get hurt and try to hide it.”

 

Yuuri winces. “Of course.”

 

“Yuuri,” he says, finally looking at the skater. “You have plenty of room. Falling once isn’t going to take the medal from you. You don’t have to prove anyone wrong, and you certainly don’t owe anyone anything. The only person who is going to get hurt if you push yourself, is you.”

 

“I know,” he says, and he  _ does,  _ but that doesn’t mean he’s lying through his teeth.

 

…

 

He inhales as the music starts, breathes out a millisecond later and begins to move. It’s just him and the music, and nothing else really matters, just a clean quad/double toe loop combination. 

 

He slides into a haze, following the motions ingrained into his muscle memory. Like this, it’s easy to not be hurt when he falls, or maybe it’s easier to not fall at all when he doesn’t think at all, can’t overthink his quad salchow and makes it cleanly. 

 

_ “Don’t push yourself,”  _ he can hear Celestino tell him as he goes into the lead up for his last jump  - a quad - and he isn’t tired. 

 

_ Don’t do it -  _ he hears everyone telling him, everyone expect Victor. Yuuri will be good enough, Yuuri will pass his expectations, Yuuri will be the biggest mistake he ever made. 

 

So maybe that’s what makes it so easy to forget what Celestino made him promise the night before, and what makes it so easy to throw away him inhibitions and go for the quad flip. 

 

He falls and he’s up a second later, but a second after that everything is fine, when Moorooka yells that he had even rotations. 

 

“Here’s a man that will go above and beyond our expectations, Katsuki Yuuri!”

 

…

 

He’s sobbing into Celestino’s shoulder, rocking back in his skates.

 

“You’re incredible, Yuuri. You’ve come further than I ever thought possible.”

 

And he’s dry heaving, ruining Celestino’s suit jacket, but it’s okay, because he’s got a new gold medal and he’s in the top ten in the world -  and nothing can hurt him.

 

...

 

He bleeds himself dry in the weeks leading up to Grand Prix Finals, because this won’t be a repeat of the last year, he won’t lose, he won’t be forgotten - if people are going to hate him, he’ll give them a reason.

 

…

 

He’s got a week left when he flies to Japan. It feels good to go home, but it’s been months since he saw his family, weeks since the last phone call, he doesn’t know how to face them anymore, after the onsen competition. 

 

...

 

He sleeps almost the entire flight, headphones turned up as loud as far as they go as the American top 40 belts out about love and sex and running away. He feels like the dead when he wakes up 9 hours later and two hours away from landing. He stays awake only long enough that to see that Victor Nikiforov and Yuri Plisetsky are both trending on twitter, but doesn’t stay awake to find out why.

 

Minako meets him at the train station when he reaches Hasetsu, and it feels like all those months ago, when he came home from Detroit the first time, with a diploma and a failed skating career. 

 

She smiles. “How was your flight, Yuuri?”

 

…

 

It’s eleven o’clock at night and she isn’t drunk, and Yuuri wants to ask why but he’s afraid of the answer. He looks at his phone instead, even though the screen is dark and the battery is dead and his charger is back in his room in Detroit.

 

“I never told you why I quit dancing, did I?” she asks, glancing at him. The room is dark, and half of her face is cast in shadows, the other half illuminated by the flickering light of the television. “You were so young when it happened, I don’t think I ever did.”

 

He doesn’t reply.

 

“Two years after I was awarded the Benois de la Danse, I stopped performing as well. I was getting older, and I had sprained my ankles a few more times than was healthy. She looks away from him, face glowing blue from the TV. “Sound familiar, Katsuki Yuuri?”

 

He still doesn’t say anything. 

 

“I was getting close to losing my position as prima ballerina. I did everything I could to keep it. Eventually, I pushed myself too far and broke. None of the injuries were major, but when you let them build up and don’t allow them the time they need to heal, well - your career gets cut short, eventually.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?” he finally says, mouth dry. His voice cracks, “I’m not, I’m not going to - “

 

“When you went to Detroit your parents and I asked Celestino to keep you safe. Your parents haven’t noticed anything, but I can promise you they will the second you blow a kneecap or tear your ACL.”

 

“I’m not going to - “

 

“Save your lies for someone who will believe them,” she says, grabbing the remote to raise the volume on the TV. 

 

“But - “

 

“We believe in you, Yuuri, but there won’t be anything to believe  _ in  _ if you run yourself into the ground.”

 

...

 

Celestino arrives in Barcelona two days before Yuuri leaves Japan, and picks up the skater at the airport. 

 

“Did you have fun?” he asks once Yuuri shoves his luggage into the trunk. 

 

He nods, squeezing his phone. It’s newly charged - Minako made him pick up a charger at the airport so he could send her snaps of  _ ‘all the cute skater butts.’  _ He doesn’t think he will, and he told her as much, but it doesn’t stop her from blowing up his phone with requests -  _ ‘make sure there’s plenty of Chris xoxox’ _

 

“That’s good, because you’ve certainly got your work cut out for you this year.”

 

…

 

Of the five other skaters in the Grand Prix Finals, he’s only ever gone up against three - Phichit, Christophe, and Yuri. The other two - Otabek Altin and JJ Leroy - are both favorites to win. And it’s scary, and it’s nerve wracking, but he’s good enough, or at least, he hopes he is.

 

…

 

New year, new Yuuri - until he reads a headline about how Victor has landed in Barcelona, protégé in tow. There’s a picture of them, Victor in a suit and Yuri in that cheetah print jacket, hood obscuring his face. 

 

That has him hiding in a bathroom, head resting against the stall door as he struggles to control his breathing. He and Victor haven’t even been in the same country, the same  _ timezone,  _ in - months? And now, to be the same city, when he’s done his damndest to keep his mind off of him - it’s scary and he can’t breathe and why  _ did he leave? _

 

He hears the door swing open hard enough to hit the wall, and doesn’t think anything of it until it hits him - it’s Yuri Plistsky, Ice Tiger of Russia. Maybe they’re tied together, or maybe Yuri is determined to be the only one of his name. 

 

“I know you’re in here,” he says, “freaking out about losing. But, no one cares if you do, Katsuki, because no one cares about  _ you.” _

 

Yuuri opens his mouth to respond, but he can’t make a single sound come out. The door swings open again, and Yuri Plisetsky is gone.

 

...

 

By some miracle, Yuuri is assigned last, until it’s not a miracle and he’s sitting up in the stands with Celestino, shaking himself silly. Going first is scary and there’s no room to grow and plan for how others skate, but last is worse - everyone here, even Phichit who made it in by the skin of his teeth, is so talented. He feels like an imposter, a foe, a lie - and there’s no escape. 

 

…

 

“Up next is Yuri Plisetsky,” the announcer says once Phichit exists the ice. “His short program,  _ On Love: Agape,  _ was choreographed by Victor Nikiforov, his current coach.”

 

The music begins - the same familiar melody that Yuuri hears in his sleep. The blond moves, and Yuuri closes his eyes and prays for the end.

 

…

 

_ ‘He’s so lucky to have Victor as his coach.’ _

 

_ ‘At least Victor isn’t stuck with that Japanese skater anymore.’ _

 

_ ‘Katsuki? Why is he even in the GPA he isn’t any good - ‘ _

 

“Give me your phone,” Celestino orders, holding out his hand.

 

“I’m texting my sister - “ Yuuri argues, but Celestino’s expression silences him.

 

“Cut the bullshit, I can see the reflection on your glasses. I know you’re on Reddit, Katsuki. Looking at threads on why Victor is better off without you and why you’re not good enough aren’t going to help you.”

 

“I know - “

 

“Then hand me your phone.”

 

“But - “

 

“Yuuri.” He stops, sighs, pushes back his hair. “I know the last two seasons have been hard for you, but treating yourself like this, for whatever reason, isn’t going to help. The only thing you can do is go out there and skate and give it your all. Putting yourself in situations like this where you get too upset to function aren’t beneficial. Hurting yourself won’t help either.”

 

Yuuri hands him the phone.

 

…

 

Yuuri can tell the exact second he fucks up, feels it in his entire being. His knee isn’t in line with his ankle, and his ankle twists just  _ so,  _ ruining the jump, the rotation, and the landing. He spins out of the quad salchow, hitting the ice hard. 

 

It knocks the breath from his lungs and pain into every millimeter of his being, but he’s scrambling back onto his feet before the black spots completely fade from his vision. Fire shoots up his leg from his ankle and he wants to scream, but he’s so  _ close  _ -

 

He finishes, doesn’t cry, doesn’t limp, because limping means saying goodbye to what little he has left.

 

…

 

He’s in fourth place, a point ahead of Chris, and three ahead of Phichit. JJ and Otabek aren’t that far ahead, but Yuri Plisetsky has ascended above them all like a fucking blond angel of death, ready to drag them all straight to eternal damnation.

 

15 points stand between Yuri and Yuuri, and he knows he should stop, but then again, he never knew when to say when.

 

…

 

“We’re dropping the last quad,” Celestino says, pacing across the hotel room floor. 

 

Yuuri is reclining in bed, an icepack hidden beneath the covers.  _ ‘A little bit tired,’  _ he had said, praying Celestino believed him.

 

“Okay,” he says, because that’s the only thing left to say.

 

...

 

By some cruel trick of fate, Victor and Yuuri end up in the same elevator the next morning. 

 

Yuuri stands as far away as he can, keeping his gym bag between them like a shield. He watches the floors tick down on the LED display, and they seem to crawl, each blicking pass slower than the last. 

 

“Yuuri,” Victor says when there’s only three floors left. “I’m sorry about what happened at the onsen.”

 

“It’s okay.” The words weigh like iron in his mouth.

 

_ Two -  _

 

“I didn’t think it would turn out that way. I thought - “

 

“It’s fine, Victor. Yuri Plisetsky is talented.”

 

_ One -  _

 

“I’m just sorry I dragged you away from the sport.”

 

“Yuuri - “

 

But the doors are opening, and Yuuri is ready to go.

 

“Bye, Victor,” he says, more like an afterthought, and slips away into the lobby crowd. 

 

...

 

His ankle is swollen, but it’s gone down enough since the previous day that he can shove it into his skate without much fight. Walking in them is a different story, and he stumbles through warm ups, and every misstep leads to excruciating pain. 

 

He puts on a smile for Celestino, but he’s pretty sure even the people watching from home can see through it.

 

…

 

He watches Phichit’s performance to  _ Terra Incognita.  _ Some of his step sequence is clumsy and he stumbles over a jump or two, but it’s still perfect, from his smile to his clear passion. 

 

He sucks on his bottom lip, swallows up any regret and remorse, and strips out of his warm up gear. He doesn’t have any more time for what if’s.

 

…

 

Yuuri knows he’s stubborn, and he knows there have been times when he pushed himself too far. He hopes Minako isn’t too mad, isn’t too disappointed, hopes his parents aren’t scared. 

 

From the moment he steps onto the ice, he can tell he’s made a mistake. His ankle twinges, like lightning has replaced his neurons. 

 

He reaches the center of the ice and tells himself he’ll listen to Celestino. He doesn’t need that last quad, and even if he did, he doubts he could land it. He doesn’t need it, but - between the start of the music and the end of the crowds cheers, he sees Victor run to the side of the rink. His hair is messy and his shoulders heave as he catches his breath, and yeah - Yuuri is keeping that last quad, whether he can make it or not.

 

His first jump combination is clean, and it makes him breathe a little easier, but he can tell he’s skating on borrowed time. Even jump, every land - puts him a little closer to the edge. 

 

On his triple jump combination - a triple axel, single loop, triple salchow - he falls on the single, but he gets up fast, barely grazing his hand. He tells himself it doesn’t hurt and keeps his eyes off of the crowd.

 

He keeps breathing, keeps skating, holding in every cry and grasp.  _ One jump left,  _ he tells himself. He glances at Celestino, and in that split second he makes his decision. He can worry about his coach later, what matters now is Victor, Victor,  _ Victor -  _

 

His last jump is a combination - a triple lutz, triple toe loop. It’s too late to change the lutz, but the toe loop doesn’t have to stay. 

 

Triple lutz, quad loop - and he lands on his ankle, feels it break beneath his weight. He hits the ice, hard, and spins out, head connecting with the barrier. He hears a scream, and  _ fuck,  _ this is bad, this is  _ bad,  _ and then all he sees is black.

 

...

 

It feels more like something out of a dream, or maybe a nightmare, watching Yuuri twitch out on the ice as red blood slowly spreads beneath his head. 

 

Victor doesn’t know what overtakes him, but she’s shoving other skaters and cameramen aside to reach the ice. He ignores everything around him, because all that matters is Yuuri, and it was so obvious something was wrong in the elevator that morning, and why didn’t Victor notice, and  _ why didn’t he stop this -  _

 

The song ends a few seconds before he reaches the gate, and maybe this is a bad idea - walking on ice in his thousand dollar dress shoes, but he can buy new ones. He can’t buy a new Katsuki Yuuri.

 

He drops to his knees once he’s by Yuuri’s side and pulls his head onto his lap. His gloved fingers are red and sticky in an instant, and Yuuri’s hair is tacky with cooling blood. Victor tugs off his scarf and pushes it against the wound, biting on his bottom lip until he tastes copper.

 

“Please make it,” he whispers, because this is a dangerous sport, but he never thought he would lose anyone to it. “Come on, you can’t die without winning first.”

 

“Sir,” someone says, “you need to make room for the medics.”

 

He doesn’t listen, shakes his head, because letting go means losing Yuuri, means letting him bleed out on international television, cold and alone.

 

“Sir,” someone begins, but a second person drags him away, yanking Yuuri away from him. A medic replaces him, holding gauze. They remove Victor’s scarf, clicking their tongue and pressing down with the gauze. 

 

A few seconds later, Yuuri is beginning wheeled outside in a gurney, and Victor is left sitting on the ice, shaking as he stares down at his bloodied hands. 

 

“Victor,” Yuri says. Victor doesn’t know how much time has passed, or when he left the ice to sit on a bench. “I’m about to perform.”

 

“I’m sorry, I - “

 

“You can go. Everyone expects you to.”

 

Victor swallows. 

 

“No one even expected you to go to Russia, either,” Yuri scowls. “But you did anyway, and now you’re useless here. You might as well retire permanently, act like Katsuki’s nursemaid. It’s better for all of us, really.”

 

“Have you wanted to say that for a while, Yurio?”

 

Yuri scoffs. “Hurry up. The pig might not make it.”

 

...

 

When Yuuri wakes up, he feels numb. He can feel his limbs and fingers and toes, which is good, but they feel cold, far away and distant. 

 

He struggles to sit up, but someone stops him, pushing down on his shoulders until he stops. Without his glasses, he can’t tell who it is, and just stares at the ceiling. 

 

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” they say, and it takes half of a second for Yuuri to register that it’s Victor who’s speaking. “You need to stay still if you want to heal.”

 

“Why - “ he stops, voice cracking, throat sore and dry. “Why are you here.”

 

“Am I not allowed to be concerned for my favorite skater?”

 

“You mean, yourself?”

 

_ “Yuu-ri,”  _ Victor whines, stressing the  _ i.  _ “I was worried. Your coach said he told you not to do a quad, but you did anyway, and now you’re in the hospital.”

 

“It’s really not that bad - “

 

“You have a broken ankle, a torn ACL, two cracked ribs and you lost almost two pints of blood,” Victor rattles off. “Don’t say it’s not that bad.”

 

Yuuri huffs, and it sends red hot pain coursing through his chest.

 

“How long have I been out?”

 

“Two days. They sedated you to ease the healing process.”

 

“Who won?”

 

“Who do you think?” Victor jokes, before saying, serious again, “Yura. He broke my free skate record from last year.”

 

Yuuri hums, closing his eyes.

 

“You would have won, if you had stuck the landing on your last quad.” He pauses, and Yuuri refuses to open his eyes. “That’s why you don’t break yourself.”

 

…

 

The next time he wakes up, his parents are waiting. They’re both crying, holding each other. His mother hands him his glasses, and it somehow makes it worse, being able to see all of the bandages wrapped around him and how pale with worry his parents are. 

 

“How are you feeling, Yuuri?” his mom asks, voice soft. It’s like she’s walking on glass, and he’s one misstep away from shattering. 

 

“Better,” he says, “they upped my painkiller dosage.”

 

“That’s good.” And then, “We watched your free skate. Just the family this time, and Minako and the Nishigoris.”

 

“Ah,” he says, because they stayed up to watch him, only to see -  _ that.  _ He back of his head throbs. 

 

It’s been years since the last time he really talked to them, when he told them he was going to America for college. He was gone for so long he forgot how to talk to them, and the thousands of miles between them made it all the more difficult. And now - it’s the first time he’s been injured badly, no one knows what to say.

 

“We talked to your doctor,” his father says, ending the awkward pause. “She thinks it best if you come back to Japan for physical therapy. You can come home, and we can help you recover. No one will bother you.”

 

“Okay,” he says, nodding and swallowing back tears. “Okay.”

 

...

 

He’s discharged from the hospital a week later, and the day after he’s boarding a business class flight to Japan, paid for by the ISU. Minako picks him up at the airport and pushes his wheelchair to her car so he doesn’t have to ride the train alone, and the car ride is mostly silent, save for the classical music playing from the radio. She taps her fingers along to it, glancing at him every few minutes.

 

“Did Victor tell you yet?” she finally asks.

 

“Tell me what?”

 

He hasn’t seen Victor since the first time he woke up, and until two days ago he was too fucked up on painkillers to notice and ask where he had gone. 

 

Minako purses her lips. “I don’t know if I should tell you then.”

 

“Why not?”

 

She shrugs. “Maybe he wants it to be a surprise.”

 

“Minako,” he says, “tell me.”

 

“You’ll see soon enough.”

 

…

 

There’s a dog waiting for them at the entrance to the onsen - a brown poodle with fluffy fur and a floppy tail. 

 

“Is he - ?” Yuuri asks, sitting up in the wheelchair.

 

There’s a shriek, and the door bursts open. All Yuuri sees is a streak of silver before Victor is on him, squeezing him into a hug. He gasps as his ribs shift. 

 

“Sorry,” Victor jerks back. “How are you feeling?”

 

He clenches his fists, digging them into his thighs, but his smile is sincere as he looks up at Victor. “Better, now.”

 

…

 

“You’ve been sloppy lately,” Victor says.

 

The two of them are in one of the pools. Yuuri’s doctor back in Barcelona recommended to help relax his muscles and to keep them from locking up while his ankle was still healing, and to stop swelling along his ribs. 

 

Victor, of course, used it as an excuse to carry Yuuri around the onsen bridal style.

 

“That’s probably why you got hurt.”

 

“I’m pretty sure it’s from repeated sprains from over practicing,” Yuuri counters. It’s late, and the stars glow overhead. Steam fogs his glasses until they’re just fuzzy pin pricks up in the sky.

 

“Still doesn’t change anything.”

 

“Mmm.”

 

“I could have you back on the ice next season. Celestino doesn’t think it’s possible, but I could do it.”

 

“The doctor said I could never skate again.”

 

“But Yuuri.” 

 

He turns to look at Victor. 

 

“Haven’t you always proved people wrong?”

 

...

 

Victor hangs out at Yu-topia more often than not, perfecting old routines and increasing the difficulty of the elements. He always talked about how there wasn’t a point to skating if you don’t take people’s breath away, but he’s always left Yuuri starstruck, even after all these years, even after the ivory veneer has been scraped away. 

 

He watches him from the sideboards, bundled up by Yuuko. Makkachin sits beside him, whining at Victor whenever Yuuri gets restless. 

 

Victor cooks him all of his favorite foods from Russia, learns to make katsudon and fails every time, but Yuuri eats it all, side pushed up against Victor. It’s warm, and soft, and he’s blushing, tilting his head forward to hide the red as his hair grows out.

 

...

 

Victor cheers him on at physical therapy, sitting in shitty plastic chairs for hours at a time. Yuuri wants to cry half the time, because it hurts and it’s embarrassing and why  _ can’t he get it  _ \- but every time it does, Victor is hugging him, because  _ ‘I knew you could do it’  _ and  _ ‘let’s stop and buy ice cream to celebrate’  _ and  _ ‘I’ll try making katsudon again, I almost have it’  _ and  _ ‘I’m so proud of you, Yuuri, you’ve come so far.’ _

 

...

 

When he’s finally out of the wheelchair and free to hobble around with some crutches, Victor takes him down to the beach. The second they step onto the sand, Makkachin sprints straight to the water. He’s only in the ocean for a moment before he yelps, running back to Victor and Yuuri, damp and cold.

 

“It’s not that cold, Makkachin,” Victor laughs, but he still tugs off his jacket to rub the poodle dry.

 

Once the dog wanders off again, the two of them settle down in the sand, Victor checking every few minutes to make sure Yuuri is still comfortable.

 

“I’m fine, really, Victor,” Yuuri finally says to get him to shut up the next time Victor opens his mouth.

 

“What do you want me to be?” Victor asks instead, leaning in and catching Yuuri off guard. Yuuri can feel the warmth of his breath on his cheeks.

 

“A friend?” he prompts.

 

“No.”

 

“A coach?”

 

Yuri shakes his head.

 

“A father figure?”

 

Yuuri shakes his head again, cheeks pink and hair not long enough to cover it completely when Victor is this close.

 

“A lover, then,” Victor smiles, hand coming up to cup Yuuri’s cheek as he leans in closer, lips centimeters away from Yuuri’s. “I can do that.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> pls comment i need validation  
> tumblr - c10p; claude-lit; mother-iwa-chan  
> twitter - cactixix  
> i'm currently working on the ushijima and tendou zines, but requests are still open :)


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